Straight Up Love

by Lexi Ryan

  The truth is more that missing such a dinner wouldn’t be worth my father’s wrath. I might not want to go, but I know I will. Dare I share my big news when Molly shares hers? Mother Teresa is probably opening an orphanage in Calcutta while I, the underachieving daughter who might be out of a job, am contemplating an investment in sperm. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  When I get back to school, students are trickling into my classroom for fourth period. Drama is my favorite period of the day, and the group I have this year is full of enthusiasm.

  “Good afternoon,” I say after the bell rings. I grab the stack of papers from my desk and start passing them out. “As promised, I brought in the applications for the children’s theater summer program. I really encourage you to look at the opportunity and talk it over with your parents. If you think you’d like to help me, get your application in by the end of next week. I always have more volunteers for the youth leader positions than I have positions available, so don’t put it off.”

  Lance raises his hand from the back row as I distribute the last of the stack. “Miss McKinley?”

  “Yes, Lance?”

  “Was Miss Quincy serious when she said they were going to let a bunch of teachers go?”

  There’s a collective inhale, and I draw in a sharp breath of my own. When Myla and I talked at the coffee shop on Saturday, she probably didn’t think about Lance listening from behind the counter. The layoffs aren’t exactly a secret, but no one wants to upset students either. “We don’t know anything for sure yet,” I say with what I hope is a comforting smile.

  In the front row, Sydney waves her paper. “If you’re not the one running the summer program, I don’t want to do it.”

  I shake my head. “The children’s theater isn’t connected with Windsor Prep. I promise you I’ll be running the program regardless of what happens here.”

  “So you might get laid off,” Lance says.

  “What if you have to move somewhere for a new job?” Corrine asks.

  “What about next year’s musical?” Sydney asks. “There’s no one else at this school who gives a shit about the drama kids.”

  “Sydney, language.”

  Sydney’s cheeks flare pink. “Sorry, but it’s true.”

  I take a deep breath. “Please don’t worry until we have more information. I don’t want to promise anything. Obviously, it’s not my decision to make. I’ll know when I know.”

  “But you’ll tell us when you do?” Corrine asks in a small voice.

  These kids act so tough and grown-up. Most of the time it’s easy to forget that they’re still just that—kids. But I see the vulnerability in the eyes of the fifteen students waiting for me to answer. They need the reassurance that I’ll be here next year because I’m a symbol of what they’ve come to love—bringing words to life on stage. I want to tell them I’m not worried and explain that I’ve been here longer than both of the other teachers in my department. But I bite my tongue just in case I’m wrong to be so confident.

  “I’ll tell you when I know,” I promise. I point to the summer theater applications and grin. “But I’m doing children’s theater this summer no matter what, and so should you.”

  Jake

  Jackson Brews is packed. After a few teases in March, another seemingly endless Michigan winter has finally released us from her clutches, and the balmy temps and sunshine have chased everyone out of their homes and to the streets of downtown Jackson Harbor. It’s one of those nights when patrons have to squeeze through a mass of bodies to get to the bar. Soon enough, school will be out and the tourists will return, and nights like this will be the norm at Jackson Brews. I’m grateful for the tourists and all they do for our community, but seeing the place packed with locals fills me with pride.

  Jackson Brews was just a hole-in-the-wall brewpub when I took over. Dad didn’t set out to open a bar; he wanted to brew beer. He was good at it, and before he got sick, he was distributing all over town and into Grand Rapids. The Jackson Brews brewpub was here, but it wasn’t anything special. Customers could stop by and get one of Dad’s brews, and maybe a deli sandwich and some fries. It was functional, but not a destination.

  I was in college when Dad was diagnosed with cancer, and when the treatments were making him too sick to work, we all stepped up. Brayden had already been working at Dad’s side on deals to expand distribution. It made sense for him to take over that side of things, but everyone knew he wasn’t the right choice to manage the bar. Carter had just gotten on at the Jackson Harbor Fire Department, and Ethan was in med school. Shay and Levi were both too young, so that left me: a twenty-one-year-old kid who wanted his family’s bar to be the best fucking bar in town. It didn’t happen as fast I wanted it to, but it happened, and I can’t help but be proud. I think Dad would be too if he could see it.

  The bell rings as the front door opens. I instinctively glance in that direction but freeze when I see Ava, dressed to kill and looking right at me. Anticipation jackknifes down my spine before I can check myself.

  She’s dressed for her date, you idiot.

  She squeezes her way through the crowd and steps behind the bar to stand by my side. I inhale deeply and close my eyes for a beat as I process her floral perfume—a junkie taking a hit. When I open my eyes again, she’s surveying the crowd with a shake of her head. “I think I need to cancel my date and help you. Jesus. Where’d they all come from?”

  I shrug. “Gorgeous day. I think it’s the first sunny day over forty we’ve had this spring.”

  “Do you have the back patio open?”

  “Yep, and it’s standing room only out there too.” I wave to a regular then step away to pour his beer and start his tab. I fill a few more drinks and send an order back to the kitchen before turning back to Ava.

  Her face is scrunched up with worry. “You need me.”

  “You are trying to get out of your date.” When she dodges eye contact, I dip my head to catch her gaze. “Cindy and I have this covered.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” Not that I want her to go on this date, but I’m not going to be the guy who stands in her way either.

  “I’m so nervous. I suck at first dates, and the pressure is on, you know what I mean? I’ve pretty much given up on finding someone.” She tugs at the hem of her dress. “But I didn’t dream about growing up and finding the perfect sperm to have a baby with. I dreamed of the perfect guy. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, nice to meet you. I’m Ava, and I’m hoping we’re a great match so we can fall in love, get married, and have babies ASAP.’”

  I swallow hard and put my best-friend hat back on. “Maybe don’t lead with that.”

  She shakes her head. “But I’m a thirty-year-old divorcée who can’t even put on her own makeup. I had to have Ellie help me.”

  Her eye makeup is darker than she usually wears it, and she’s swapped out her typical light pink gloss for a pink that’s so dark it’s almost red. It’s all a step up from what Ava would do on her own, but not over the top. “She did a nice job.”

  “I feel like I should be working the corner somewhere.”

  “Relax. You look amazing.” I’m not exaggerating. She’s wearing a little black dress—emphasis on little—with her favorite red heels. I haven’t seen this dress before. If I had, I’m positive I’d remember, so I’m guessing it’s Ellie’s. It shows her off. The neckline exposes more cleavage than she usually does, and the hemline exposes more leg. No red-blooded heterosexual male is going to be able to resist her, even if she uses “I want a baby” as her opening line.

  “I feel like a washed-up old lady who’s trying too hard.”

  “Well, you look like a wet dream.”

  She frowns and studies me. “You mean it?”

  Fuck yes, I do. I’d like to pull her into the kitchen, press her against the walk-in cooler, and show her just how much I mean it.

  But I’m supposed to be prioritizing our friendship. I fold my arms. “Fishing for com
pliments tonight?”

  “Maybe.” Her lips twitch. I’m having a lot of trouble keeping my gaze off those lips, but it’d be best for everyone involved if I did.

  She fidgets with the hem of her dress again. “Is Levi around?”

  I shake my head. “Why?”

  She shrugs. “Just wanted to see him before my date. You know, for the confidence boost. He knows how to give compliments and make a girl believe them.”

  Grunting, I press a hand to my chest. “I’m hurt. Are you calling me a liar?”

  “No, I’m calling you my best friend. You’re the one who’s going to have to feed me Oreos and chocolate martinis if I end tonight feeling ugly and not good enough. You have a vested interest in bolstering my confidence.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re still calling me a liar. But that’s cool. I’ve been called worse.”

  She laughs, and her dark hair brushes her bare shoulders as she shakes her head. “Hey, guess who’s coming to town?”

  “Who?”

  “Mother Teresa.”

  I frown. It’s been so long since I heard that nickname, and it takes me a minute to understand she’s referring to her stepsister. When that realization hits, my stomach sinks. “Wow. Molly? Seriously? When? Is she coming back for good?”

  Smooth. Real smooth.

  I take a deep breath and ignore the sick gnawing I get in my gut any time Molly’s name comes up in conversation.

  Ava doesn’t seem to notice my awkward rush of questions. She rolls her eyes. “I doubt it. She never stays more than a day or two. Apparently, she has some big news to share with everyone.”

  Thanks to her father’s obvious favoritism, Ava has always been incredibly jealous of her younger stepsister. Ava was ten when her dad left her mom. He immediately moved in with Jill, and Jill’s beautiful blond daughter became the center of his world.

  When Ava first told me about it, I figured she was just being a jealous kid, but then I saw it for myself over the years. I can’t blame her for the innate sense of competition she feels toward Molly.

  The only thing Harrison ever did right when it came to Ava was to make it clear that he wanted her and not Molly. Her father initially tried to set Harrison up with Molly on one of Molly’s brief visits to town. The story, as Ava’s father tells it, was that Harrison said he didn’t feel right taking Molly out when he couldn’t stop thinking about Ava. That sentiment alone was enough to win Ava’s heart.

  “What do you think her news is?” I ask.

  “God only knows. I mean, if I had to guess, I’d say something like an all-expenses-paid trip to Haiti to launch a not-for-profit that uses rehabilitated circus elephants to improve local literacy rates while providing the impoverished access to clean water.” She chuckles softly, and I grin. Her ridiculous exaggeration of Molly’s volunteer work is a good approximation of how Ava’s father represents it to the world. “Whatever her news is, can you imagine me following it with my plans to buy myself some sperm? Dad would flip and use Molly as an example of all the ways I’ve screwed up my life.”

  I grimace, imagining the scene. “Are you really going to tell your dad your plans?”

  “I think my news can wait. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think it might be wise to not tell anyone else and pretend I got knocked up by accident. Even my friends don’t seem to understand why someone would make the choice to be a single mom, and I don’t need them to. If they’re more comfortable believing I was irresponsible and accidentally ended up pregnant than with the truth—that I desperately schemed and plotted for a baby—then so be it.”

  “So be it,” I say, forcing a smile. Christ, she’s serious about this, and I can’t believe I’m thinking it, but I’m grateful for Ellie and her Straight Up Casual idea. Ava needs a chance to mull this over for a couple of months.

  She looks at her phone. “I should probably go.”

  On a date. To find Mr. Right. To interview a potential father of her children.

  This blows.

  I sweep my eyes over her again—because she needs the confidence boost and because I fucking want to—and shake my head slowly. “I hope the asshole you’re matched with appreciates the value of your company.”

  She wraps her fingers around my biceps and squeezes. “Thanks, Jake. I needed that.”

  “Message me when you’re home safe.”

  “Sure thing.” Then she heads out of my bar.

  After the front door swings closed behind her, I push out into the dining area and stand at the window. The sidewalks are lined with people enjoying the perfect weather, but I spot Ava instantly. Her hips shift side to side as she heads down the block to Howell’s. I breathe through the tightening knots in my stomach and start counting down the seconds until I get that text.

  Ava

  Only Ellie would think that blind dates that begin with shots of alcohol would be the best way to find myself a future baby-daddy. But even if I think she’s out of her mind, I’m determined to make the best of this, and that means I need to follow the rules.

  Step One: show up.

  Step Two: drain my shot like a good girl.

  I twist my purse strap in my hand as I walk up to the bar. Time to pick my poison.

  The bartender scans a paper in front of her, taps it, then grins at me. “I see you’re here for Straight Up Casual. Good for you, Ava.”

  “How have you been?” I recognize her from high school—she was a year or two ahead of me, and nice enough, but I can’t remember her name. Small-town problems.

  She waves a hand. “Living a dream. What can I get you?”

  “Patrón?” Tequila’s always been a bit of a happy drink for me, and a little mood booster can’t hurt, given how nervous I am about my first date in . . . Well, let’s not put a number on it. I’ll just have to limit myself. Tequila is really good at making me think I should have more tequila, and the last thing I need is to get drunk tonight.

  “Bold choice.” She pours a shot and hands it to me across the bar. I shoot it back fast, and she laughs. “Should I make that a double?”

  I grimace. Shit, that burns. “No, one shot is more than enough for me.”

  “Anything else while you wait for your date?”

  My date. Oh, hell. I’m so bad at this. Maybe I should have made it a double. “How about a margarita?”

  “Rocks and salt?”

  I nod and watch, mute with nerves, as she shakes it up.

  “Over there,” she says when she slides my drink across the bar. She points to a small round table in the back corner. There’s a small Straight Up Casual sign on it—because this wouldn’t be embarrassing enough if everyone didn’t know what I was doing here. “You’re a little early, but I’ll send your date your way when he gets here.”

  “Thanks.” I start to walk away.

  “Ava,” she says, and I stop. “Relax. You look fucking hot.”

  “Thank you.” Whether I want them to or not, her words boost my confidence and make me walk a little taller on my way to the table.

  I put down my drink and slide onto my chair, crossing my legs at the knee. I grab my phone from my purse, then think better of it and slide it back in. I don’t want to look aloof when my date arrives.

  Across the bar, Mr. Mooney, the Windsor Prep principal, is walking toward my table. Shit. My gaze lands on the Straight Up Casual sign in front of me and I wilt. Great.

  I take a long pull from my drink. Because now it’s necessary.

  “Miss McKinley?” he says, stopping at my table. “I believe you’re my date.”

  I cough on my drink and spray my boss with margarita. “Shit! I mean, shoot! I mean . . .” Standing, I grab napkins from the table and awkwardly shove them in my boss’s direction. “I’m so sorry. You took me by surprise.”

  He gives me a slow, amused shake of his head as he dabs at his shirt with the napkins. I can honestly say this is the first time since I met him that I’ve felt anything but small when he directed his smile at m
e. “Relax, Ava. I’m surprised by this too.”

  Mr. Mooney is a handsome man. He’s tall, with a runner’s build, and is always dressed impeccably. Tonight, he has on a dark blue button-up shirt that’s tucked into his jeans and is unbuttoned at the top, and his blue eyes seem softer than usual.

  “Sit down, please.” He sets his beer on the table.

  I stare at him dumbly. Sit? Does that mean we’re going to do this? As I was spitting margarita all over him, I assumed we’d have a little laugh and part ways. Because he’s my boss.

  He waves to my chair and pulls out his own, dragging it over a bit so it’s positioned closer to mine before he sits.

  I stiffen at his proximity. The music is loud in here, and this will make it easier for us to have a conversation, but he’s just a little too close to my personal bubble.

  Don’t be ridiculous, Ava. Ellie’s always telling me that my bubble is bigger than most. I just need to relax.

  “Ava, Ava.” He grins at me. “What are the chances?”

  I exhale heavily. Given the size of Jackson Harbor, I suppose I was likely to know anyone I was set up with. Regardless, Straight Up Casual is going to get an earful from me about this. Somewhere on their form they should include your job so people don’t find themselves “matched” with their employer. And on the same note, is Mr. Mooney truly the best match they could find for me? This does not inspire confidence.

  “So you’re in the dating scene too, huh?” I ask, desperate to diffuse the DEFCON-one levels of awkward I’m feeling. I reach for my margarita. The moment my fingers touch the glass, I make myself release it. I’m already feeling a little fuzzy around the edges, and if I’m officially on an accidental date with my boss, I think I’d like to keep the fuzzy edges in check.

  Color rises in his cheeks, and he clears his throat. “I’m only here because my sister . . .”

  I nod. “In my case, it was my best friend. A birthday present, believe it or not.”

  He laughs softly. “Well, happy birthday. I hope she gets you something better next year.”